All That Jazz
by takeyourside
Summary: Chicago, 1926: alcohol is lethal and illegal, crime is rife, and actress Donna Paulsen finds herself behind bars. When she hires hotshot lawyer Harvey Specter, he soon realises that she's more than just good publicity. AU. Oneshot.


**I started this just under 2 weeks ago and I'm so pleased I've finished it! It's completely different for me, I've never written this kind of an AU before but I hope you all like it! It's inspired by the musical/movie 'Chicago' except it has its own Darvey twist. It's unbetaed but I hoped it's okay. I hope you all like it, feedback is greatly appreciated! **

**(yes, I'm in denial about the show ending... and what?)**

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_All That Jazz_

She tossed the pistol into the drawer, still wrapped in a towel, the blood staining her hand. She rolled her eyes at first, already having gotten the marks off her hand once that night.

"Shit!" she whispered through gritted teeth, trying desperately to wipe the scarlet liquid off.

A loud wrapping on the door and the call of her name caused her to slam it shut. A quick spray of her perfume, a rushed yet precise application of her dark red lipstick and she was ready to make her appearance. Her short black dress customised with sequins that flowed halfway down her thighs, curly red hair flowing over her shoulders – unconventional but a change to her sister's stylish bob.

Her hair was almost untameable, not ideal for performing like the other girls' hair, but the guys loved it, and those guys would bring their wives who would mention the shows to friends.

She entered the wings, making her way towards the stage, the thrill of the crowds and the band making her senses tingle. The smell of lethal booze under the name of moonshine filling the air around her – it was safe to say that at a time when it wasn't even legal, alcohol had never been more prominent or potent. It excited her, a craving she didn't try to hide. Short skirts, intoxicated minds and heavy makeup made her life in Chicago all the more exciting. That, and her performances with her sister.

Her sister who was absent that night. She entered the stage alone, 'The Paulsen Sisters' becoming 'The Paulsen Sister' – though the audience seemed not to mind. They were probably too drunk to notice. She was also the better sister, far more illuminating and entertaining than Daisy.

She wasn't sorry for what she did and she didn't regret it, but when the cops emerged at the back of the audience, she began to regret her clumsiness. She regretted not waiting until after the show, not giving herself more time to clean up after herself. She knew she was in trouble. Yet, the show went on. Her routine didn't finish early. They enjoyed it. _Of course, they did, they were only men after all._

She should've expected it, being thrown in a cell. She was too careless – so were they. The matron kept eyeing her, probably watched one or two of her shows. The woman seemed like someone she'd get on with – someone who wouldn't take shit from anybody, prepared to do what it takes and protective of those loyal to her. Not dissimilar to herself.

"Ms Paulsen," the matron began when she stood outside the redhead's cell. The cheap perfume radiated from her pulse points, seeping into Donna's cell through the iron bars.

"You can call me Mama," the matron informed her. Her strong stance and grand height would probably be overwhelming to some but it intrigued the actress, pulling her closer to the bars in spite of the acidic smell coming her way.

"You might think I'm here to make your life hell; I'm not. I can be a friend," she began, capturing Donna's attention. "But it's a two-way street: you scratch my back, I scratch yours. Just don't give me shit, Paulsen."

Donna smirked, finding the woman ahead of her both amusing and a wonder, drawn in by her unconventionality and hard exterior.

"How about I start by getting you a new perfume? Something to make you smell alluring, rather than," she glanced down, eyes giving Mama the once over. She was testing her, seeing where the line between play and shit was, "like something that came out of a shitty speakeasy just south from here."

"Didn't I just tell you not to give me any shit?" Mama began, turning on her heel, "but I'll take you up on that."

Across the city, the flow of alcohol beneath a hotel was far less uncouth. The wealthy spread across private booths and side rooms, getting their hands on their favourite liqueurs from before the new laws. Uninterested in funding Capone and his goofs taking over the speakeasies, they wanted to remain of a certain echelon.

"So, did you get her out?" Marcus asked amid the laughter, sandwiched between two flappers, one between him and the man who the question was directed at.

"No shit I did, Marco!" The lawyer replied as if it were obvious, sniggering at the stupidity his friend was showing him. "Did you think I'd let her hang? I'm Harvey Specter, I'm the best goddamn lawyer this city has ever seen." He smirked, bringing his whiskey to his lips while the other hand landed on the lap of the flapper left to him.

It was a perk of the job, flappers falling at his feet as he bought expensive drinks that were otherwise unattainable. The good stuff, not cheap knock off's that the streets were filled with. The lighting in their side room was low, sat in a rounded booth, anything they could want quite literally at their disposal when they were interrupted.

"Mr Specter," came a man entering the room. "They've arrested Donna Paulsen; you know the Paulsen sisters? Sing and dance at speakeasies, fancies herself as quite the actress." The name caught his attention, sitting upright, hands moving to straighten his jacket. "She's in Cook County Jail for murdering her husband and sister."

Harvey found himself saying goodbye, jumping in his driver's car and telling him to 'step on it' when he got in. He was a moth to the light – if there was a murderess, he was there, ready to save the day and be on the front page. It came as part of the job but it sure helped with the motivation.

He was no stranger to Cook County Jail; it was where all the women ended up. The 1920s were a new age, women changing in cities across America. Skirts shorter, makeup heavier, nights longer and alcohol stronger – times were changing. More women were in prison than before – though the men still far outnumbered them – which was amazing for Harvey Specter, known for his brilliance in getting women exonerated, freeing them from the fear of death row.

The dark, empty corridors upon entering didn't bother him. If anything, they were exciting; it meant a case which meant publicity. The cool air and small space heightened his anticipation, meeting Matron Morton who guided him through the jail. Women staring at him between iron bars, eyes of desperation for his body as well as his keys to freedom were stroking his ego, fuelling his desire for celebrity status.

"Mr Specter!" Came the voices, a mixture of faces and tones. Some were alluring, wanting more than his legal services, women taking on the social change of the decade. Others looked innocent and desperate, wishing for a way out. None of them seemed a challenge to him. Call it arrogance but he was sure his wit and intelligence meant he could outsmart them all.

"There she is," Matron Morton gestured, the redhead sat in her cell with journalists enchanted by her. He was, too. Her hair was stunning, like nothing he'd ever seen. Her beauty caught his attention more than any other cellmate there.

"I completely blacked out from the shock!" She exclaimed in a voice that screamed vulnerable and naïve. Her eyes were wide, brows raised, hand against her chest as she told her story, playing the part of the true victim in it all. "I can hardly be accused of committing a crime. I was so shocked that the whole world became a blur of sadness and heartbreak!" She continued, catching Harvey's attention more than any prisoner he'd ever worked with.

She was different.

"She knows how to play the game." He muttered, just loud enough for Matron Morton to hear him.

"She sure as hell does," she responded with folded arms, standing next to the lawyer as they watched on. She saw him begin to move out of the corner of her eye, removing his hat to reveal his perfect hair, the gold shining through under the direct light, brunet taking over otherwise.

She followed him over, unlocking the cell door and swinging it open.

"Do you know who did it?" One reporter asked, the only female among them. She was well-poised and well known by both Harvey and Donna.

"Alright, that's enough." He said loudly, catching the attention of the reporters as their heads swished in his direction. He caught a glimpse of Donna's face, seeing her pout at the loss of attention and he had to resist the urge to smirk.

"Harvey Specter!" Miss Sunshine said with glee upon seeing him – Harvey saving such a known performer could be the front page of her dreams.

"Miss Sunshine!" He replied in a matching tone. "I'm sure you understand that my client is tired and has answered enough of your questions for now." He told her and the rest of the group with a false smile, charming his way through the group as per usual.

"Yes, of course," she responded immediately, others nodding, vacating the room upon his demand.

"Is this what you're bringing me, Mama? In exchange for perfume? I might need more than," Donna looked the lawyer up and down, "this."

The matron sniggered as she locked the cell door, leaving the prisoner to speak to Harvey.

"Must be nice," the actress said, watching as he sat in a stool previously inhabited by a photographer.

"What's that then?" He asked as he rested his hat on his knee, hand holding it in place.

"Having all that power." She replied, eyes locking onto his. The glimmer of light illuminated them, specs of green standing out against the amber of her hazel eyes, Harvey finding himself drawn in.

He smirked, cocking a brow and parting his lips, preparing to speak.

"Is that you want?" He asked, squinting slightly. "Power?"

"Among other things." She revealed, leaning back while her hands gripped her knees. "Doesn't everyone?" She tilted her head to the right slightly, reading the man sat in front of her. He sure did.

"You like jazz, don't you?" He asked, pursing his lips.

"Jazz is my job, my life." Donna replied, tone evidently shifting, suddenly more serious than before. She took a sharp inhale of breath, wetting her lips. "Are you gonna get me outta here or what?" She asked

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?" Harvey said, a little tired of the perhaps unnecessary conversation – 'perhaps' because she wasn't like other clients.

"That depends." She leant forward, still locked on his deep brown eyes. There was something more, something she couldn't quite see or latch onto – yet.

"On whether I get you out." He completed the sentence for her, smirking. She was head strong, knowing what she wanted and how she wanted to get it.

"You got it." Donna confirmed with a smile, "You know, the polite thing to do would've been to introduce yourself." She pushed herself off of her bed, wandering around the lawyer and to the iron bars keeping her prisoner.

"I didn't need to." He was right, he didn't and she didn't really care. She was testing the waters.

"Mama!" She called out through the bars.

"What happened?" Harvey asked, swivelling on the stool to face her. She turned around; hands wrapped around two of the bars behind her.

"I came home to find my husband Charlie and my sister Daisy in number seventeen: the spread-eagle." Her legs began to spread apart, a standing straddle to give him the idea and to watch his reaction.

"So?" He kept his eyes up, fully aware of what she was doing.

"So, I shot them." She replied matter-of-factly. "Mama!" She called again, snapping her legs together and turning her head slightly to the side as she yelled, keeping her eyes trained on him.

"You're gonna be that honest with me?" He smirked.

"You bet I am. Now it's your job to get me out and, if I can read people as well as I know I can, you'll do that for the papers." She quirked her brow and gave a small, knowing smile.

"You're not just a pretty face," he leant forward in his seat, studying her details.

"No, I'm not. So how about you do your job and I'll do mine." She had a tone of warning which he admired. Determination and strong will, encompassing the new wave of female strength.

"Which is?" He was happy to play her game but he wasn't sure she had the skill to play a part in it, still certain he'd be working alone.

"Acting." _Hmm._

"Paulsen, you called," Mama said upon approach, walking towards them.

"Mama!" She exclaimed, turning around with a fake smile. "Good, you're here. I'm tired, it's been a long and lonely day. Can't I just be left to sleep?" Her tone was innocent, playing the victim, amusing the matron because the act wasn't at all necessary. Harvey noticed that too, realising that pretending was all fun and games for her.

"I'll be back tomorrow. You might wanna make use of that makeup before I get here." He nodded towards the stack of goods that had already been brought to her. _The goddamn Cook County Jail – more like a holiday than a punishment._

"Are you saying I need it?" She retorted quickly, her voice sharp and bitter. Her face had changed, the first sign of detest he'd seen all night; maybe the first sign of her he'd see all night too, he couldn't be sure.

"I'm saying you're an actress, play your part." His face didn't show a thing, making him almost unreadable as he placed his hat back on his head and left, walking alongside Matron Morton down the thin corridor.

He'd never met anyone like her, this Donna Paulsen. Many characters had passed through those walls, desperate for his help, only the best cases winning him over. Boy, did she have a good case, but there was more. More to her, more to this. He couldn't place it, whatever 'it' was, but he knew there was a chance he'd have to work a hell of a lot harder to rein her in.

He returned to the jail the next day, arriving in the afternoon after the inmates had eaten. Donna was in her cell, cigarette in hand, leafing through a stack of papers. She was wearing a slip dress, black and short. Her legs went on for days but that wasn't why he was there.

"Mr Specter!" She grinned, false excitement he was sure, as one of the guards unlocked her cell door. He entered the small area, stepping forward and removing his hat, placing it on top of a side table. He dragged a chair from the corner, positioning it opposite her as she sat on her bed.

"I've been getting letters." She said smugly and gestured at the stack on her lap before shifting her focus. "Have you seen the papers?" She asked, moving the stack and leaning to grab some newspapers.

"It's my job to see the papers." She handed them to him anyway, Harvey unfolding one to see Donna on the front – the title read: 'My Heart was so Broken I Couldn't See'.

"You look proud," he said nonchalantly.

"You aren't impressed, are you?" She knew he wasn't – the man was clearly after the control, wanting to pull the strings.

"Why would I be impressed by you making my job harder?" He asked with a flat tone, a twang of annoyance in his voice.

"Harder?" She questioned in surprise, sitting up straighter. "They already think I'm innocent."

"Then you're more naïve than I thought." He slammed the newspaper down on the floor of the cell, disappointed in her though he wasn't sure why. He didn't know her; she was a stranger who needed help to avoid hanging for double murder. Yet, she wasn't… or at least she didn't seem to be. She was more than a stranger to him.

"You're worried you won't be able to manipulate them into believing the story you want to tell." Donna flicked her burnt out cigarette over the edge of the bed, watching as Harvey came to the realisation that she did understand what was going on. She wasn't naïve and she knew him better than he knew her.

"We need a story that gives them no choice but to love you," pulling a cigar from the inside pocket of his jacket, a lighter from his right outer pocket. Donna watched him place it between his lips, lighting it before closing his eyes momentarily and inhaling. He mesmerised her. He was different to any other man she'd ever met.

"Where are you from?" He relaxed into the chair, posture slack, one leg balance on the other.

"Cortland, New York." She told him.

"What do your folks do?" He watched her shift in her seated position, dress almost showing him more than he'd bargained for, eyes finishing up scanning her and returning to her face.

"My mom died when I was a kid." She replied bluntly, moving on. "My dad handles the finances for Brockway Motor Company."

Harvey sat up now, eyes looking as though he'd struck gold.

"We might not have to make up as much of this as I thought."

"You didn't think much of me, did you?" It was a rhetorical question accompanied by a knowing smile, he smiled back – they both knew she was right.

She'd moved to Chicago of her own accord, excited by the city after meeting Charlie in New York and spending only a day with him. He wasn't the reason she left – or the reason she stayed, the night life being that – but he became the story. A wealthy, half-orphaned young woman was convinced by her shady boyfriend to move to a new city. Her jealous sister followed them there and Charlie manipulated both. Donna can't have murdered them because she was too madly in love with him, she was just a simple-minded woman used as a puppet.

"I doubt you've ever been a puppet." Harvey muttered, shuffling in his seat, changing his position once again – legs spread apart. Donna didn't reply, just continued looking at him. He realised it was probably a mindless remark, the answer obvious.

"Yesterday you said you know you're good at reading people. Why didn't you realise Charlie and Daisy were a thing?" He knew he was probably treading on thin ice; she was a strong-minded woman who'd killed her husband and sister, he didn't know her beyond giving her legal services.

"I let my guard down." Her response was clipped and she dropped her eyes, stopping looking at him. He was intrigued by the reaction but equally pleased to be relieved of her penetrative stare, no matter how captivating her gaze could be.

"What do we do now you've chosen the story?" She asked, swiftly changing the subject and leaning forward as she intently awaited his response.

"I'm going to finish my cigar," he began as he flicked his eyes to it. "Then we'll go to one of the holding cells where I've arranged for the reporters to go and we will tell them all about poor Ms Paulsen."

She smiled, their eyes meeting as he inhaled, Donna feeling her breath catch in her throat. _Goddamn it, Paulsen, pull yourself together_.

"Take it you like the view," he teased. She was constantly looking at him, studying him, staring and watching him. Yet, in a strange way, he loved it – even if it did feel like she could see right inside his soul.

"Not much else to look at 'round here." She shrugged as she spoke, seemingly unphased by his comment and he believed it, unable to see her cheeks blushing under the heavy makeup. He was affecting her more than she would ever admit.

"When do ya think the trial will be?" She stood up as she asked, placing her things back into a neat pile, mainly because she wanted to avert her attention.

"Soon as I can get it, hopefully."

Only a week passed until the next high-profile prisoner waltzed into Cook County Jail. The daughter of one of the richest, most clean-cut men in the city. She shot not only her husband but his two mistresses, blood splattering her bedroom walls.

Donna watched from the communal area as the woman was brought in. She was loud, playing up to the reporters who'd herded in behind the glamorous Kitty Baxter.

Then she spotted him, entering the corridor, heading towards the mess.

"Specter," she said, yet not catching his eye. "Harvey!" she called, this time he heard her. He flashed a half smile her way, wanting to stop but knowing he couldn't miss out on what was ahead of him. He gave a curt nod before continuing, catching up to the crowd.

Donna felt the sting more than she'd admit. The butterflies in her stomach dying, the crack in her heart being chipped further open, feeling more of herself slipping away. She felt a fool for thinking he looked at her as more than a client or more than an actress. The idea he thought she was intelligent, witty, special, when really, he truly did just want the publicity that her name gave him.

And that was like a stab in the back, except maybe he hadn't implied otherwise. Perhaps she was blind, vision too blurred by her own hopefulness. For that, she really did feel the fool.

Deflated, she backed up, wrapping her black, silky robe around her body as if it would stop more of that feeling of slipping away. She couldn't name it or even place it but he brought out a coalition of feelings; dangerous yet exciting, feeling constantly on edge around him.

Harvey thought a lot about that small interaction upon getting home that night. He'd been caught up in the thrill of a potential new case, a triple murder exciting him, but the feeling wore off when he was alone.

He lit a cigar, sat in a lounge chair by the fire place, flames crackling as he felt his mind wander back to her. Tipping his head back, he pictured the look on her face when he all but ignored her. He wondered what it meant. Did she want him or his legal services?

He fell asleep there, mind stuck on curly auburn locks against porcelain skin, an intelligent mind and a confidence he doubts he'd ever see rivalled.

"Jessica, what are you doing here?" Harvey asked upon approaching his desk the next day, instantly recognising the woman sat in the chair at his desk, facing away from him.

"I wanted to talk to you about Kitty Baxter," the woman spoke, not turning to face him.

"Of course, you do." He replied bluntly, though aware she always had the best intentions for his reputations and that of the firm. He slumped into his chair, uncaring for the conversation, mind busy.

Jessica simply stared at him knowingly, a glimmer in her eye and a slight smile tugging at her lips.

"What?" He asked impatiently.

"Who is she?" The woman asked him and he rolled his eyes, sighing in response. "Hey, you and I both know that if I was a white man, I'd be leading the cops and the lawyers. You're not getting out of this that easily."

"You'd probably be my boss," he thought aloud. "I wouldn't get away with shit."

"No, you wouldn't. I'd tell you the same shit but with authority and a decent wage." Jessica chuckled – you had to keep it light-hearted just to get by.

"You know the Donna Paulsen case?" He knew she did but it was the easiest way to bring it up, the whole thing eating at him.

"Oh my god," she muttered with wide eyes. She wasn't expecting that one. Harvey Specter blushing over a prisoner, a client.

"It's not like that." He knew his protest was empty, not grounded in the actuality, because it was _like that_.

"Isn't it?" Jessica smirked, cocking her brow.

"I can't just abandon her case," he continued, choosing to ignore the comment.

"You always forget a case for the next big thing," Jessica was truly intrigued. This wasn't like him. Kitty Baxter meant more attention, a better front page, one of the lawyer's biggest motivators.

"This one's different," he said honestly, glancing down and shuffling in his seat. "She's different."

Jessica took a deep breath, shifting the mood because she didn't want to tease him – it wasn't the right moment for that. She'd never seen him like this. There was more going on with Donna Paulsen, something striking him deep inside.

"You are allowed to break your own rules." She said after the pause, Harvey looking up with a furrowed brow. "There's no one else telling you that you have to defend the most high-profile client you can find. You're the one who feeds off of the papers and reporters," she was revealing a hard truth, one he hadn't even considered. He wasn't going to be defending someone with no public interest, Donna had been at the centre of a media frenzy until Kitty's arrest.

He nodded slightly, thinking over his decisions, wetting his lips as he pondered his next move. Donna was an actress, she was used to putting on a show, that would make for a good trial. Yet, that very fact made him want to lock his heart in a cage because he was falling for her and he knew it. How could he know the difference between acting and reality? What if he got her out then he never saw her again? Not that he'd drop the case completely, but holding her up meant longer until the goodbye.

He stood up quite abruptly, surprising his friend and (sort of) colleague.

"Where are you going?" She asked him.

"To court, need to get Donna in there to get a trial date." He said informatively, void of emotion, as if she really was just another number. Jessica smiled, watching him gather himself.

"Harvey," he knew that she knew, could hear it in her voice. "She must be very special," Jessica grinned. Harvey paused, holding his hat in his hands, expelling a breath.

"She is."

When Donna heard the footsteps approaching, the keys in the lock, smelling his cologne, she didn't look up. She heard him clear his throat, knew he was removing his hat.

"We're in court tomorrow." He said upon realising she wasn't going to say anything.

"We?" She asked, not looking up from the book in her hands, perched on the chair he'd previously inhabited.

"Don't see anyone else in here." He responded, furrowed brow and confused expression.

"If you're looking for Kitty then you're in the wrong damn cell."

"So that's what this is about." He rolled his eyes, pursing his lips and tilting his head, the redhead still not looking his way. "You're jealous."

That caught her attention, her head snapping up instantly, jaw clenched and eyes like daggers.

"How dare you." She spat, her voice lower and strained, attempting to contain herself.

"You're gonna deny it?" He would've laughed it out if it was anybody else. "You just shot two people because you got jealous."

"Is that what you think?"

"You said as much."

"No, I didn't." She slammed the book shut, raising her voice. She tried steadying her breath after, determined to stay calm. "They betrayed me, hurt me, disappointed me. Jealousy was the last thing on my mind." He didn't reply, the sound of heavy breathing resonating in the space between them.

"Then yesterday, you didn't even want to acknowledge my existence. You're meant to bet getting me out!" She could feel herself getting louder again, leaning forward in her seat, propelled by her own words.

"Who said I can't get both of you out?" He was challenging her, spitting his words with an equal aggression. She scoffed, looking away while shaking her head.

"No one had to, that's how you operate." Her voice was more passive now, a sense of resignation. She watched Harvey's expression grow more confused, suspecting as much. "Did you really think I didn't know who you were when you walked in here? I'm better than you think."

He didn't know what to say, neither did really. Both felt disappointed, in themselves and the person in front of them. A melancholy drowning them in their enclosure, neither breaking eye contact, stubbornness overcoming them in spite of the pain it caused.

"I know," he replied at barely above a whisper, sincerity ringing through.

"Do you?" It was a plead, pleading for a sign – of what she didn't know, or at least she wanted to pretend she didn't. She wasn't prepared to get hurt again and, boy, could he hurt her.

"You're different." He was still quiet, swallowing hard, catching himself before he fell. Falling into what? A trap? A mess? Feelings he didn't want to account for?

"How?" It was a barely audible question, the tension and fear constricting her throat. Harvey didn't answer right away, Donna dropping her eyes to the book in her lap to avoid the effect he was having on her.

"You just," he began eventually, "are."

She nodded a small nod, swallowing the lump in her throat. She started to finger the pages of the book and he knew it was his cue to leave.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

He signalled to the guard, a short and stocky man who marched over, keys jangling but Donna refusing to lift her eyes.

Truth be told, she had tears to hide, tears that couldn't be shed. She wasn't about to cry over a man she barely knew, especially not in a goddamned jail.

"Paulsen," Mama's voice bellowed, unlocking the cell once again. She didn't receive a response, standing at the entrance. "You gone deaf?"

"What is it, Mama?" She asked solemnly, still not moving her head.

"Come with me," the matron responded and Donna looked up in confusion now. She tossed the book on the bed before standing, the matron nodding to the corridor.

They wound up in her office, a room as dingy as the rest of the prison. Its dark walls, dark desk and cabinets didn't add any warmth but having walls was a nice change to the iron bars.

"I take it you need a favour?" Donna asked upon stepping inside, Mama entering behind her and closing the door.

"Not really, just some help." She replied as she rounded the desk to sit down. Donna quirked a brow out of intrigue, stepping forward. The older woman smirked, reaching into a drawer and pulling out alcohol. She watched as the actress' face lit up, eyes gleaming and a smile forming.

"I can sure help with that," Donna replied, sitting on the edge of the desk, body angled so she could face the matron. She reached for the bottle only for her wrist to be grabbed, fingers gripping on firmly.

"First, what's the deal with Harvey Specter?" She wasn't going to let this go, that much was obvious, Donna calculating her next move.

"He's my lawyer." Donna replied, stating the obvious with a flash widening of her eyes.

"But you want more," she proposed to the prisoner who scoffed.

"Is that what you think?"

"That's what I know, sweetie. You think I ain't seen the way you look at him?" She had a trained eye, years of experience both inside and outside her workplace. She could spot things a mile off, let alone when it was as glaringly obvious as Donna and Harvey made it. Well, glaringly obvious to every apart from themselves.

Donna replied only with a look. A fully loaded look that said she couldn't talk about it, not for lack of want, but _'you're right'_. Mama poured some – too much – of the drink into a cheap tumbler, handing it to the redhead whose hand had begun to tremble ever so slightly. She brought the glass to her red stained lips, downing the liqueur, grimacing slightly at the sharp, bitter taste.

"What am I gonna do, Mama?" Donna asked with sad eyes, frowning down to the woman by her.

"Accept it." The answer made Donna expel a nasal breath, the slightest yet saddest smile bracing her lips as her eyes fell into the glass in her hand. "I'm not kidding." Mama continued as Donna placed her glass on the table.

"Maybe you should be." It was a bitter reply, words clipped.

"That piece of shit has been in and out of here for years to get the next front page, I ain't ever seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you." The words caught Donna's attention, lifting her eyes to meet Mama's. "I've finally seen more than dollar signs in those big brown eyes of his," she smirked and the prisoner returned a smile. "You aren't just a pretty face or a hit with the reporters; you're different."

"That's what he said," Donna revealed.

"What did you say to that?"

"I asked him how," she continued and Mama raised her brows in anticipation. "He wouldn't tell me."

"Don't mean he don't feel it too," Mama said before swigging her drink. Donna tried to squash her hopes, wanting to push the feelings down and let them drain away with time. "Red, he passed on a bigger case so he could spend time with you, to get you outta here."

Donna took a deep breath, mind back on the suave lawyer. She wanted to believe her, wanted Mama to be right as much as she wanted to get out. She was helpless, hopelessly falling further into those eyes that mesmerised her so much. She was in trouble and she knew it.

When the next day rolled around and Harvey appeared, an awkward tension flooded the area. Neither said much, Harvey swallowing hard when he saw her dressed to the nines.

They sat silently for the car ride, gazing out at the streets passing them by. Donna liked it, seeing the world again, but it was different. She missed him even though he was never hers to have. She missed his eyes when they were never hers to see and his hands when they were never hers to hold.

They walked up the stairs to the courthouse together, reporters vying for their attention but neither giving it – both too tense to entertain them. His hand hovered by the small of her back, not close enough to touch in spite of how desperate he was.

They weren't inside for long, the judge giving them a week, the pair leaving still without making eye contact. He held the door for her, standing in the hallway as she brushed past him.

"Anything you want me to do?" She asked, making eye contact for the first time that day. Her throat suddenly felt constricted again, scanning his eyes and his face in desperation.

"Play the part however you want," he muttered, watching her tuck her hair behind her ear and wishing he could do it. _Goddamn it, that hair_.

So, she did; turning on the waterworks in one of the most believable performances Harvey had ever seen. The reporters loved it, soaking up every ounce of despair they could. There was a magic about it, and about her, that Harvey was finding himself repeatedly drawn to. He'd never met anybody like her before, she was so distinct and _special_.

They rode back to the jail in silence again, the atmosphere painful for both, each one tortured by the impossibilities and opportunities being thrown their way.

Donna was determined to seem unbothered, hoping her façade was a success – it was – even though she could barely keep it up. She wanted to protect herself, fearing rejection and betrayal. She was only twenty-four years young and her life, though not perfect, wasn't a patch on the sadness of others', yet she was quick to learn she hated feeling the bitter sting of not being enough and was desperate to avoid it.

She carried her head high, not turning to look at him until in her cell and only doing so on his command.

"I've got something for ya," Harvey said with a feeling of unease. How did she do this to him?

"Oh yeah?" She turned around calmly, brows slightly raised in a look of both expectance and disinterest. The lawyer reached into his jacket, pulling a book out from the inside pocket. It was burgundy with gold writing etched into the front.

"Not read it myself but it's meant to be similar to what I saw you reading the other day." He held it in front of him and pursed his lips after talking, the redhead stunned by his thoughtfulness. "I knew you'd put on a good show today."

She stepped forward, her scent invading is senses and attacking him from every direction. She took the book out of his hand delicately, reading the title and gripping onto it as she lowered it.

"Thanks," she replied looking up to him. She scanned his face, an act she couldn't help, reading people having become an addictive habit. Her eyes met his, the low light casting shadows over his already dark irises that made him seem all the more mysterious.

Neither said a word, neither knowing what to say. Words were so useless sometimes. They could be so powerful but still not enough.

She wasn't sure why she did what she did next, didn't think it through at all. It was an impulse, taking control of her and making her lose her mind.

She placed her hand on his, fingers trailing up his wrist, thumb brushing against his that hung down beside him. She didn't hold his hand, not exactly, but she couldn't stop herself from reaching for it. It was a gentle touch, barely there, but it took them both by such surprise.

The air suddenly grew thicker, their breathing heavier as they felt a rush. They were still lost in each other's eyes and it only last a moment but it felt like forever, searching for oxygen as they drowned in the presence of the person in front of them.

Donna felt her hand drop away, the loss of contact making her heart drop, wanting to feel his skin under hers again.

"I should go," he muttered eventually. Donna nodding and looking away, moving back and making breathing easier. "I'll see you in a couple of days."

She watched him leave, watched him place his hat back on his head and followed his silhouette down the hall. The memory of his hand against hers taking over, his cologne still flooding her system despite his absence.

She felt like a fool, a fool falling without any control. She couldn't make sense of it, the feelings he evoked in her. She'd never felt this way about anybody. That wasn't to say she hadn't been obsessed with Charlie – she had – but this was more. It ran deeper, coursing through her veins at a rapid rate, embedding itself in her core. With every day that passed, the less she thought she'd be able to let him go.

"You didn't do it." Harvey told her a couple of days later when prepping for court.

"But I did," she said with a furrowed brow. He flashed her a look of warning, the redhead realising she should let him finish talking first and lighting her cigarette.

"You didn't do it but if you had done it, it wasn't murder because you can't even clearly remember being at the Cicero Hotel. You could've left for all they know," he lit his cigarette between sentences. "And someone saw you on your way out, you needed air, you weren't there. You'd seen the bodies and blacked out from the shock."

Donna proceeded to smoke as he told the story with a passiveness that she admired. This was nothing new to him, it was life.

"Does it fascinate you?" She asked, leaning her chin against her hand, elbow propped up on the table.

"What?" He asked, not looking at her.

"Murder," she whispered slowly, "and all that jazz."

"The people are more fascinating than the murders." He shuffled some papers about, striking through something with his pen. Donna swallowed, _he found everybody interesting._

"Do ya meet lots of fascinating people then?" She queried with wide eyes, keen to hear his answer.

"Some are more fascinating than others." Now he looked at her and she felt like his prey, caught out by those deep brown eyes. She suddenly felt like she was on display, an open book for him to read every word of, but she couldn't get her eyes to leave his. She'd felt her bottom lip drop, a small gap between her parted red lips.

He was stuck too, waiting for her to say something, _say anything_. She didn't and they both found themselves engulfed in a wave of silence that made their hairs stand on ends.

"Oh yeah?" She finally probed, feeling like his words were a declaration personal to her but not wanting to be presumptuous.

He didn't say anything, just nodded, eyes falling to her hand as it begun to shake slightly. She noticed his shift in gaze so brought the hand to her mouth, inhaling the toxins she held, finally finding a reason to look away from him.

"Right, I'll see you tomorrow." Harvey stated, standing up and changing the atmosphere in the room. The tension lesser, his breathing readjusting and become more regular.

That's what it was like until the trial: tense meetings, heavy breathing and forbidden feelings. Neither could stop them, the feelings, from taking over. They were losing sleep and the ability to eat, their minds clouded by the thoughts of the ever so mysterious yet alluring figure they'd met. Their hearts in their throat and their pupils dilating at rapid rates.

Neither wanted the other to go. Donna was almost more scared of getting acquitted than getting hanged. She was going to lose him and the mere thought of it made her stomach churn. She needed him and she didn't know why, a surge of anxiety at the thought of not having those eyes in her life.

He was the same and hated it just as much as she did. The feeling of helplessness that overtook every cell in his body, eating away at him when he thought about the trial. He wanted her, he _needed_ her, but he had to say goodbye.

When the trial rolled around, both were bubbling with fears about this lose-lose situation they'd found themselves in.

They walked it, Harvey twisting and confusing the jury, dazzling them with facts. Donna's performance winning both the press and the jury over, the judge even seemed in her favour.

They waited in the courtroom as everybody left, a commotion outside the courthouse drawing the attention of the reporters – a gunshot, drawing in the vultures who searched for their next literary prey.

"You're free." He smiled her way, forcing a fake happiness, wanting to be thrilled she'd escaped death row.

She smiled and nodded, expelling a short nasal breath. She didn't _feel_ free, not when he was around. The incessant need for him taking over her once more.

"I thought you'd be happy," he swallowed hard after saying it. He was confused and trying to quash the glimmer of hope that appeared in the back of his mind.

"So did I." She said it quietly and solemnly, looking down and biting her lip. "That's not true," she admitted after a couple of moments before taking a deep breath, she was treading on thin ice and she felt her heart rate soar. A thumping filled her ears and she shut her eyes momentarily before looking up at him. He was sat in anticipation but she couldn't go on unless he replied, she needed it, the assurance to know she wasn't misreading everything.

When he realised, he tried to find some words in his blurry brain.

"Why's that?" He finally mustered up, sitting straighter in his seat across the room.

"I think you know why," she muttered and he found himself stunned into silence. Still too scared to speak, suddenly shocked by the possibility he'd deemed impossible, thoughts that had ruled his very being since he first met the redhead.

When he didn't reply, she found herself nodding. Standing up, she began her journey to the exit, desperately keeping her head up and trying to steady her breathing.

Then he grabbed her.

His hand wrapping around her wrist, firmly enough to stop her from leaving, goose bumps travelling up her skin. She felt her breath catch in her throat, eyes beginning to water upon the contact.

He stood from his chair, not letting go of her as he stepped closer. He got closer than they both anticipated, Donna's eyes gliding from his hand to his face.

"Don't go." It was a plead rather than an instruction and it grabbed her by the throat, his words echoing. "I'll take you home," he said and released her wrist from her grasp, both their hearts hurting at the loss of contact. She nodded in acceptance of his offer and he led her out, hand gently against her upper back, not daring to get any lower _just in case_.

A strange hope was present in the journey back to her home, a place she hadn't been since before her crime. It was an apartment in the city, nicer than lots of other residences in Chicago but grotty all the same – most were.

"This is me," she said quietly as the pair stood outside the front door. Harvey was about to say goodbye, heavy heart and sad mind, when two guys holding hand guns swung the door open. They didn't bother the pair of them, minded their own business, but he wasn't comfortable.

"I'll see you if I see you then," she whispered having hoped for more. She began to turn on her heel when she felt his fingers brush against her skin again. It was brief, a delicate touch against her arm just to get her attention.

"Donna wait," he said simultaneously and she felt the fool all over again, drowning in his voice. "I can't leave you here." He gestured to the dark building, more specifically the cracked paint next to the door.

"I'll be fine, Harvey." Her tone was reassuring and he knew she would be, she'd killed two people when she caught them in the act. "Everywhere in Chicago is the same when we aren't lawyers," she smirked as she said it, trying to keep a light mood.

"I need you." He took her back, receiving a gape in response, his serious tone shocking her. "You're different." He repeated those words, the one that threw a spanner in the works before.

"How?" She still wanted to know, dwelling on those words every day since he'd first said them.

"I don't know you just…" the momentary pause allowing him to take a breath, "are." He watched as her eyes widened, straightening up in preparation to continue.

"I can't stop thinking about you and it's driving me crazy," he revealed, the words tumbling out uncontrollably now. "The idea that I'll never see you again haunts me. I've never met anyone like you and I know I never will. I can't lose you."

He studied her face as he waited for her to speak, her wide eyes reminding him of why he can't stay away. He was feeling attacked by her perfume, his heightened senses making it smell stronger than usual, and he watched her long eyelashes flutter before him.

"Say something," he muttered, almost begging. He didn't beg but he was ready to throw that out the window for her.

She didn't say anything, instead she stepped closer, hands falling against his chest, eyes finding his lips. One hand found her cheek, pushing red curls out of her face while the other snaked around her waist.

His lips found hers, tenderly at first, the touch making every hair stand on end. A tingling sensation coursing through the entirety of his body as he embraced her soft skin.

She pulled away and scanned his eyes for any trace of doubt or regret, anxious as to what she'd find before she saw no such thing, lips crashing back to his, hungrily. She felt him pull her tighter against him, his other hand on her waist too, hers finding his head. She pushed her fingers through his hair, letting one hand rest at the nape of his neck, delicately tracing circles that contrasted their union.

He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as their breaths mingled through the cool air.

"Come with me," he whispered, Donna feeling a tug on the corners of her mouth when she felt the words against her lips.

"What if you change your mind?" She asked quietly, hesitance resurfacing.

"I won't." He said it with such a certainty that she closed her eyes briefly, opening them to find his, crinkles by their sides. "We can be happy and you can be star." He whispered once more.

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

"I'm gonna keep them," he brushed her cheek with his fingers, tucking her unruly hair behind her ear. "What do ya say?"

"I say why the hell not," she watched a shit-eating grin form on his face, eliciting a chuckle from her. "Just one thing," she said quietly.

"What's that?"

"You never buy me a book again," she smirked.

"I thought you'd like it!" He defended, still smiling at her.

"No, you thought you'd like it." She was right, of course. "You're a terrible gift giver," she chuckled and he struggled to contain his own laugh.

"As long as you don't shoot me for it." He raised his brows and she shook her head, crinkles by her eyes only growing, before pulling him back in, revelling in the fact she needn't have been so scared after all.


End file.
